


Family

by Saetha



Series: O Swallow, have mercy on them [Febuwhump 2021 Prompt Fills] [24]
Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: (they are hunting that's why), Angst, Animal Death, Cuddling & Snuggling, Family, FebuWhump2021, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Found Family, Gen, Geralt/Eskel and Geralt/Yennefer if you squint, Memory Loss, Papa Vesemir, This is veeeeery soft, Uncle Eskel (The Witcher), Uncle Lambert, no beta we die like the sorcerers at Sodden Hill
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-24
Updated: 2021-02-24
Packaged: 2021-03-15 00:20:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,102
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29675511
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Saetha/pseuds/Saetha
Summary: “You carried me on your back!” Ciri says. “You took me hunting. And on the way back to the keep, you carried me on your back.”“I did?” Lambert teases, but the smile on his face and the expression in his eyes belie the fact that he remembers all too well. Eskel punches him softly in the shoulder but he, too is laughing.“You did,” Ciri grins. “And you showed me how to skin a deer and how to butcher it. We had a good dinner that night. You told me you were proud. Coën was there, too. He smiled a lot.”*Ciri loses her memory in a magical accident. Her family at Kaer Morhen helps her recover by remembering all the good times.
Relationships: Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon & Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon & Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg, Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon & the Kaer Morhen Witchers
Series: O Swallow, have mercy on them [Febuwhump 2021 Prompt Fills] [24]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2138178
Comments: 2
Kudos: 28
Collections: febuwhump 2021





	Family

**Author's Note:**

> I'm skirting the edges of Febuwhump here given that like 80% of this is really sweet and soft, but I thought we all deserved a break after all the angst I keep inflicting on everyone. I love Ciri and her found family so very, very much ❤.
> 
> Today's prompt was: Memory loss.

Geralt doesn’t really know how it happened. All he knows is that Yennefer had suddenly opened a portal into the midst of Kaer Morhen’s central courtyard, causing Eskel and Lambert to jump apart from their sparring match with a shout. Geralt lowered his sword from where he had been practising with Vesemir. 

“Geralt, we need help.” Yennefer’s voice had probably sounded reasonable and even to the other Witchers, but Geralt knew her well enough to detect the tremor in it. A tremor that he had heard only rarely and that could only mean one thing – their daughter was in danger. As if to undermine the fact, Yennefer was carrying Ciri in her arms, clearly unconscious.

Geralt had dropped his sword, a wounded noise low in his throat as he ran over to them. His thoughts had kept racing – was she injured? Poisoned? Had a spell drained her energy? _Perhaps she is dead_ , a voice whispered in his mind. _Perhaps you failed to protect her once again, like so many times before_. No, no, his daughter was still breathing, albeit faintly. If he concentrated, he could pick up her faint heartbeat, hard to hear over the frantic hammering of his own and Yennefer’s hearts.

“What happened?” His hands had fluttered over her still form, wanting to take her from Yennefer, but also knowing that nothing and nobody would be able to tear Ciri away from her arms right now.

“I’m not sure.” Yennefer had shaken her head. “I was teaching her a few spells when she suddenly slipped into a trance again, causing the magic to go explode. We both passed out; when I woke up again, she was like this.”

“Let’s get her inside.” That was Vesemir, calm and collected even in the face of catastrophe, as always. They had followed his suggestions, quickly vacating the courtyard.

And now Geralt is sitting here, in Ciri’s old room, carefully placing a hand on her forehead as she is caught in whatever state the magical explosion had catapulted her into. Her breathing and heartbeat are regular at least and Geralt doesn’t _think_ that she is at immediate risk of dying anytime soon, but he knows that Chaos is a fickle thing, and it might all change in a heartbeat.

Yennefer is sitting next to him, her brows creased in worry. Her lips are pressed into a thin line and her fingers tremble imperceptibly when she reaches out towards their daughter.

“Yen.” Geralt carefully catches her fingers in his, wraps his hands around her to still the tremors. “You did good. She’ll wake up. She’ll be fine.”

Yennefer nods, although the same question is on her lips that also flickers around Geralt’s mind: _What if not? What if this is all it takes?_ One stupid mistake, and it’s all gone, snuffed out in less than a heartbeat.

“Are there any spells that might help her?” Geralt suggests gently. “Anything you can think of? Or perhaps we should ask Triss?” Yennefer shakes her head, looking endlessly tired.

“Triss is away on some sort of magical experiment,” she explains. “I haven’t been able to reach her at all, no matter what I tried.” Geralt doesn’t hold back with the curses at the revelation. He’s still grumbling out a few choice words when the door to the room opens, revealing Eskel behind it. His face is contorted in a worried frown.

“How is she?” he asks and all Geralt can do is shake his head and explain to him the same things that Yennefer has just told him. Eskel reaches up to scratch the scars on his face but lowers his hand again before he can touch his skin. “Is there anything we can do to help?” _We_. It is a reminder that Ciri is beloved by more people than just Yennefer and Geralt, that Kaer Morhen and its Witchers as much a family to her as they are to Geralt.

“Not much. We’ll just have to hope that she’ll wake soon. I will try probing her mind again, as soon as I am a little more recovered from the portal.” Yennefer still sounds tired beyond measure and Geralt and has no doubt that she had exhausted herself in attempts to heal Ciri before coming here. It is a wonder that she’s still conscious.

Eskel gives a nod before walking over to grasp Ciri’s hand and squeeze it ever so slightly.

“Don’t let us wait for too long, little cub,” he whispers, before he turns around to leave again, pressing a hand against Geralt’s back in comfort on the way. He doesn’t try to touch Yennefer, knowing that she is currently in a mood where she wouldn’t have welcomed it.

“I’ll get some food for you both,” he promises before leaving again. Geralt just nods, eyes already travelling back to Ciri.

*

When she opens her eyes, she has forgotten everything.

They tell her that her name is Ciri, the raven-haired woman and the white-haired man. That she’s their daughter. A child of the Elder Blood. And that her memories were taken by an avalanche of magic. She knows she should be wary of strangers, but deep inside, in a place that could withstand even the strongest assaults of Chaos, she knows that she can trust them. That she is safe with them.

It is Yennefer, the raven-haired sorceress, who first discovers that her memories aren’t truly gone, just _buried_ deep inside her mind instead, the pathways obscured by the force of the magical explosion.

Yennefer curses as she accidentally knocks over a small vial, its contents spilling on the stone floor, the vial following with a clatter shortly after. The scent of lilac and gooseberries fills the air, strong and intoxicating and it shakes something loose in Ciri’s head.

“That smell.” She wrinkles her eyebrows. “The little vial. Didn’t you-“

Yennefer stops in her efforts to clean up the spill and turns around.

“Yes,” she says. “Yes. You knocked it over in anger, when-“

“At the temple.” Ciri grits her teeth when a pulse of pain travels through her head. It’s there, the shape of a memory, still frustratingly vague but she tries to dig into it, keep it as close as possible. “You were…you were there. At the temple. I was yelling something. And then, at some point, you simply hugged me. It was the first time you ever hugged me.”

“You were angry about the exercise I had given you, yes.” The smile on Yennefer’s face is a soft and careful thing, but her eyes are brimming. “You were always so stubborn and angry, at everything that didn’t go the way you wanted.”

“Ha.” Ciri closes her eyes. Each of Yennefer’s words clears the memory in her mind, gives edges and shadows to the pictures. She remembers how hurt she had felt, how she had missed her father and uncles and Kaer Morhen. How unfair Yennefer’s treatment seemed to her back then, even though she knows better now. How much she loves the woman sitting next to her.

“Ma,” she says, very quietly, before Yennefer holds out her arms and she falls into them. She doesn’t cry, just sighs in relief when the familiar smell envelops her. A smell she can now place, a smell that tells her she’s home, that she’s loved.

“Are they all coming back then?” Yennefer asks. “Your memories?”

Ciri shakes her head and grimaces slightly.

“No. Just this one. And a few others, all with you. But I can’t see much beyond that. I’m not sure-“

“But they _can_ come back,” Yennefer interrupts her, voice rough with relief. “They can. You’ll just have to find what triggers them.” At least, according to her, the keep will be a good place to start.

*

Ciri makes her way into the kitchen, hungry from the day’s events. She hasn’t been able to recover any other memories yet, but Yennefer’s stories have helped to solidify the feeling in her chest that she’s safe and home, amongst people who she loves and who love her. Kaer Morhen doesn’t feel like a stranger to her, but like an old friend, ready to embrace her with its stony corridors and familiar halls.

In the kitchen she meets Vesemir who is preparing pies for dinner. His hands and forearms are covered in flour and a thin layer of dough as he carefully rolls out the pastry to fit them into the little forms in front of him – one little pie for each of them, full of their favourite fillings. Vesemir smiles when he sees her enter and jostles her shoulder slightly with his.

“Want to help, pup?” he asks.

“Yeah, sure,” she smiles back. It’s been a while since she’s done any baking, but Vesemir’s instructions are both gentle and firm. He shows her how to roll out the dough in just the right thickness, how to transfer it into the pie form without it ripping, how to crimp the edges just right. Ciri laughs and does her best, although her best still looks rather poor next to the pieces of someone who’s been preparing these for longer than she has been alive.

She closes her eyes and breathes in the smell of the kitchen – Vesemir’s scent, the heat and woodsmoke from the oven, the meat cooking on the stove, the numerous herbs and cooking ingredients.

_“Come on, little one.” Vesemir’s voice, gruff and friendly as always. He’d always shown her nothing but kindness, hadn’t just taught her to fight, but how to brew potions that would work even on non-Witchers, how to bake and cook. “There, press it into the tin, just like this.”_

_Her little hands do their best to get the dough into the form and she is dismayed when it rips. Vesemir shows her how to patch it up so that it won’t matter and smiles when she lets out a huge sigh of relief. He musses her hair with his hands, getting flour all over it and she laughs. Vesemir even helps her make a little wolf head out of the remaining dough, to set in the centre on top of the pie before slashing the dough around it to let the steam escape during baking._

_Ciri remains in the kitchen, surrounded by the comfortable smells of her new home, until the pies are all done and can be presented to her da and uncles. Vesemir’s pride sits in her stomach like a bellyful of soup, warm and comfortable._

“We used to do this when I was first here,” Ciri whispers, one hand still, poised in the middle of her work. “You showed me how. Said you’d never seen a finer pie.”

“I did.” Vesemir’s smile grows wider at her words. “I’m glad you remember.”

“They’re good memories.” Some of her favourite ones, in fact, and somehow it makes her glad that the memory that brings Vesemir’s steady presence and quiet reassurance back to her is one of baking, of creating and caring for those they both love, rather than one of fighting.

Her family’s eyes brighten when she tells them, although she can see the hurt in Geralt’s eyes that he would remember Vesemir before her. He swallows it quickly, telling her how glad he is as he ruffles her hair.

Eskel and Lambert take her hunting the next day. Geralt had been close to objecting before they both pointed out that, physically, Ciri was just fine, and that the accident hadn’t dimmed any of her reflexes. If anything, the fresh air would probably do her good. Geralt had relented, and so the late morning sees them setting out from the Keep, armed with bows and anything the else they need.

The snow is less thick in the forest than out on the rocks and meadows, and they follow the trails of a herd of deer, making it easier to walk.

“Wait,” Eskel, who is currently leading their small group, holds out his arm for them to stop. He puts his fingers to his lips, gesturing at a spot slightly to the left of them. Ciri strains her eyes but she isn’t sure what he is pointing at, his sharper Witcher senses having picked up something far away. She remains quiet, however.

Lambert nods, and together they creep closer, trying to make as little noise as possible. Finally, Ciri sees what Eskel had been pointing at earlier – a young buck, nosing at some freshly exposed bark on a tree. Eskel nods at her and she loosens the bow from her back, as soundlessly as possible. Ciri gets into position, closes her eyes and draws a deep breath, drawing her bow in one fluid motion, fingers close to her cheek. She releases the arrow and lets it fly-

_“Great shot Ciri!” Eskel claps her on her back and Lambert nods his approval from beside him. Ciri’s arrow has brought down the deer from a good distance away, a clean shot straight into the heart._

_“Grandmother taught me,” Ciri says proudly, although the memory of Queen Calanthe always sends a spike of pain through her heart. Archery had been one of her favourite things to learn when she was younger, and her grandmother had delighted in teaching her._

_“Ah, she taught you well.” Eskel reaches out to wrap an arm around her shoulders, drawing her in close for a comforting hug. Ciri closes her eyes and breathes in his familiar smell, wondering how she could ever have thought this man any less than human. Eskel might look scary at first, but he is one of the kindest people she has ever met._

_They show her the easiest way to carry the deer back to the Keep and Ciri suddenly finds herself yawning – it’s late in the afternoon, and they have been out hunting all day. Eskel and Lambert exchange a wordless glance. Eskel takes her bow and Lambert’s weapons, and slings the deer over his shoulder, to carry in addition to the snow hares they’ve managed to catch._

_Lambert crouches down and holds out his arms behind him._

_“Come on, up you go,” he says, indicating his back. Ciri hesitates for a moment – the last time someone carried her on her back it was Eist, many years ago when she was still small and light enough so that she was easy to lift – but the temptation wins out in the end. Lambert’s back is soft and warm, especially once they share his cloak, and she nestles into him, feeling comfortable and safe._

The arrow hits again, but Ciri doesn’t even look at the buck, staring at Lambert and Eskel instead.

“You carried me on your back!” she says. “You took me hunting. And on the way back to the keep, you carried me on your back.”

“I did?” Lambert teases, but the smile on his face and the expression in his eyes belie the fact that he remembers all too well. Eskel punches him softly in the shoulder but he, too is laughing.

“You did,” Ciri grins. “And you showed me how to skin a deer and how to butcher it. We had a good dinner that night. You told me you were proud. Coën was there, too. He smiled a lot.”

“He was.” Lambert goes still next to her, sorrow in his eyes. “He’d still be so proud if he could see you now.”

“As are we,” Eskel adds. “That won’t ever change.” Ciri smiles, basking in the warmth of the recovered memories and the sting of sorrow when she thinks about Coën. They are good memories, of hard training, but also of communal evenings, of hugs and piggy-back rides freely given, of laughter and huddling in front of the fireplace with her uncles.

It’s at the same fireplace that the last memories of Kaer Morhen return. They are all assembled there together, on the large rug that has been flattened by hundreds of feet and little boys sitting on it in ages long past, to listen with rapt attention to Vesemir telling them stories. Now it’s just the six of them, arrayed in a half circle around the fire. Geralt is sandwiched between Yennefer and Eskel, the three of them embroiled in quiet conversation. Lambert is leaning against Eskel, scribbling something in a notebook and Vesemir is sat beside him, touching knees with the youngest of his sons as he works on some knitting. Ciri has stretched out in front of them with a book from the library, thumbing through the pages of the old bestiary.

She turns around, stretching her slightly achy legs. Her head bumps into Geralt’s leg and he lifts his arm, draping it around her without a second thought. Ciri stiffens for a moment but then –

_Geralt’s arms are soft around her. She fits into them so perfectly and they are warm and safe, like home. It’s the first time that she’s felt safe since her grandmother died and Ciri trembles in his embrace._

_“Now we’ll be together, won’t we?” she asks him, knowing his answer and yet afraid that it will be different._

_“Forever, Ciri.” Geralt has her and he holds her strong and tight, as if he is never going to let her go again._

_He’s held her like that so many times since – during the cold on the way to Kaer Morhen so she wouldn’t freeze, at night when nightmares ripped through her memories and caused her to jolt awake from her own screams. In Kaer Morhen, when she’d injured herself during training or had simply wanted to be held in the evening, surrounded by her father and uncles. And so many times since – fierce hugs, soft embraces, comforting cuddles. Always warm, always safe, always so unmistakeably Geralt’s. He’s home, in a way that no place is._

Geralt is surprised when Ciri flings her arms around him and presses her face against his chest.

“Da,” she whispers, with just the smallest of sobs. His movements still for a moment before he wraps his arms around her in return, stroking her back and running his fingers through her hair.

“There, there,” he murmurs, as if she is once again just a child in his arms. After a moment, she can feel Yennefer put her arms around her as well, and Eskel’s and Lambert’s reassuring touches on her back. _Family_ , she thinks. _Safety. These people are her family, and blood has nothing to do with it. Here is where she’s safe, here is where she’s happy._

Their warmth stays with her for the rest of the evening, cradling her and providing all the comfort she needs.

 _Home_.


End file.
